


ceramic wanted

by dansunedisco



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Avant Garde Artist Octavia, F/F, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Humor, Pre-Femslash, Trash Diving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-03-07 23:11:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3186776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone is going through their trash. Needless to say, Anya is 100% done.</p>
<p>Written for the prompt: "sorry for rifling through your trash at two in the morning, but I’m an avant garde artist and I needed material for a new installation piece" AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ceramic wanted

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kirargent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/gifts).



> Anya/Octavia should be a thing.

The sounds were all too familiar: rattling bottles, the neighbor’s dog barking, rustling paper, crunching glass and, finally, a loud bang-crash. Anya growled. She had just come off a sixteen-hour shift and did _not_ have time for this shit. 

“The damn raccoons are back!” she yelled, snatching the broom off its hook and tearing out the house before she could hear Lexa’s reply. It was the fourth time this week that those damn bandits had riffled through their bins and there was only so much trash a woman could re-clean before she reached her breaking point. 

She smacked the broom against the siding. (She was willing to fight raccoons, sure, but she wasn’t _actively_ trying to get rabies). “Get out of here,” she said, whacking the house a few more times for good measure. “Go get your dinner somewhere else.”

Then, the raccoons replied: “Oh, shit, sorry!”

Anya didn’t scream, but she did swing. 

“Augh!” the raccoon—who turned out to be another human being, imagine that—groaned. “God, did you play professional baseball?” 

Anya dropped the broom, halfway ready to apologize before realizing _another human being_ was going through her trash. Who did that? She flicked the floodlights on, entirely unprepared for the person standing next to her tipped-over trashcans. They were— _cute,_ Anya realized with a mix of horror and annoyance. Long hair twisted back into a braided faux-hawk, puffy purple jacket, _mittens_. She hadn’t been expecting mittens.

“What in the hell are you doing out here?” she asked, after the shock wore off. “This is private property.”

“Technically this is space over here is considered a public side alley, but—“ the stranger held up their hands in a placating gesture, “I am very sorry about all this.” 

“Whatever. Apology accepted,” she said. “Go before I call the cops.”

“Totally onboard,” they replied, “but since we’re here… you kind of have a perfect ceramic thingy and would you really mind if I took it off your hands?” 

Anya glared. “What part of leave don’t you understand?”

“Look,” they said, sticking out a hand like they wanted Anya to _shake it_ or something. “I’m Octavia, aspiring avant garde artist from that pretentious art school a few blocks over. I’ve been looking for the final touches on my huge senior project and _that_ is exactly what I need.” 

Anya looked to where they—Octavia—was now pointing. It was the weird, ugly Georgia O’keefe-reminiscent ceramic pencil holder she’d chucked in the trash two days ago.

She sighed, all of the fight going out of her with one breath. It was late. She was dead on her feet. She needed to make sure Lexa finished all her homework and Lincoln did all his chores. This? This was honestly the least of her worries. If some art student wanted her throwaways, they could have it. Better than raccoons.

She jerked her chin to Octavia. “Take what you want, but you better clean up afterwards,” she said, then snatched up the broom and yanked the side door open, ready to tackle the fight waiting for her inside.

“Hey!” Octavia called out suddenly.

She half-turned, eyebrows raised as if to say _I’m listening._

They jogged forward and tugged out a folded piece of paper from their jacket. “My showcase is next week,” they said, almost shyly now. “Maybe you can swing by and see your junk in something new. I promise it’ll be awesome.”

Anya sighed, but reached out to take the flyer. “Don’t get your hopes up,” she said, but something told her she just might go.

Octavia laughed, open and all too enthusiastic for how late it was, like they knew exactly the change of heart they were inspiring. “I won’t,” they said. “And thanks again…”

“Anya,” she said. 

“Anya,” they repeated, “cool.” 

\--

The next morning, Anya checked the side alley. 

She had stayed up far too late thinking of Octavia and the damn ceramic pencil holder. She’d convinced herself that there was _no way_ a perfect stranger would actually clean up someone else’s trash (despite them being the cause of the mess)… and then convinced herself again that, when she found the alleyway still trashed, she could go to the showcase next week and raise hell.

But what she found was a pristine alley, and a tiny, folded blue butterfly waiting for her by the back door instead.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it! <3


End file.
